Even Devil's Dream
by asomyrcal
Summary: Complete: Oneshot - Sometimes even the most cruel and sadistic of devils have nightmares, too. Dietrich is no exception.


**Title: **Even Devil's Dream**  
Fandom: **Trinity Blood  
**Pairing:** Implied Isaak x Dietrich  
**Synopsis:** Even devil's have their dreams, or nightmares.

Sleep-hazed hazel eyes opened slowly, gazing blankly up into a dimly lit ceiling. His eyelids felt heavy, it was a struggle to keep them open. Had he been drugged? It wasn't unlikely, given the heaviness in his system.

"Feeling better, puppetmaster?"

It was undoubtedly Isaak's voice. Dietrich forced himself to sit up, catching a brief glimpse of the mage seated calmly on the edge of the bed. On the edge of his bed, to be precise.

Where, or how...?

"You collapsed." Isaak said, not moving from where he was sitting. Dietrich realized that he must have spoken out loud. He glanced around, and the sudden acrid scent of cigar smoke flooded the room, Isaak had lit another of the cigarettes he had a rather fond fancy for.

Dietrich remained silent, Isaak's words had hinted that there would be more to his words. And indeed, there was.

"You were screaming." The mage's voice was stoic, expressionless. "Was it another nightmare?"

Dietrich near cringed. Isaak's use of the word 'another' suggested that the mage knew more than he let on. He looked up slightly, propping himself against the pillow, attempting to make it look as though he heard this line from Isaak was a daily affair.

"No. Just a bad night sleep."

Dietrich's somewhat shaky voice made Isaak raise an eyebrow. Dietrich had survived many a bad night's rest, but never had he seen him quite so shaken. Never since he had been six, after the boy had killed his parents and family.

At that time, Isaak could barely have blamed him, even though the puppetmaster was a sadistic, cruel child, the knowledge that his own father had tried, and failed, to kill him must have scarred him. He understood and knew more than he did let on.

"You're lying."

Dietrich merely closed his eyes. Isaak watched, taking this as a sign that the puppetmaster would not answer. The color had not returned to Dietrich's cheeks, he was still looked pale and wan. It was probably an aftereffect of the sedative which had been hurriedly injected into him to still his thrashing, spasming limbs.

Not this again.

Dietrich let out a breath, opening his eyes. He wouldn't even ask the mage how he knew, he would not give him the satisfaction of knowing that his nightmares had been very real indeed. Instead, he shakily got to his feet, bare feet against the warm carpet, clothed in nothing but a pair of pants.

Isaak watched as the boy, no, the young man, quietly rose and made his way to where his shirt was lying, neatly folded on the chair. Dietrich was rather obviously holding his silence, as he pulled the long-sleeved shirt on, buttoning it slowly. Everything the puppetmaster did seemed to be in slow motion. It was as though something had shocked him badly.

"Dietrich." Isaak rose to his feet and strode over. "I will not have a Knight of the Orden behaving in such a strange manner."

Hazel eyes, almost glassy, stared up at his. For a moment, Isaak was taken aback, it was as if looking into the six year old child's eyes once more, the haunted, scared child whose parents had tried to kill him. The child who had massacred his family in what some might have called self-defence. Perhaps it really was self defense.One never knew, with the puppetmaster's unstable mind and sadistic cruelty.

Pale fingers gripped the mage's uniform, and before Isaak could even react, Dietrich buried his face in the magician's chest. For a few, long, awkward moments, Isaak did not know how to react. He had never seen Dietrich do this, never in the time they had spent together, lest for one exception when the boy was still a child.

That child had been frightened, and there was no trace of the cruel, sadistic boy who had killed his family seemingly without remorse. That night, Isaak had let the child cling to him, had held him until the boy fell asleep.

That incident had never been repeated for the next fifteen odd years, never once brought up by either of them.

Quietly, an arm slipped around Dietrich's shoulders. Isaak did not know how to comfort, he was, after all, the Tank Mage, he had no need for human emotions. Or so he claimed. Instead, he merely remained there, silent, an arm around the young man's now trembling shoulders.

How long did they remain standing in this way, in the middle of Dietrich's room? Then as suddenly as it had happened, Dietrich pulled away. His eyes were lowered, Isaak could not tell if the young man's gaze was still the glassy stare he had seen earlier.

Awkward silence reigned between them as the puppetmaster pulled on his coat over his shirt, adjusted the belts on his uniform and sank down onto the bed to tug on his boots. No words were exchanged. There was just silence.

Silence still hung in the air as the puppetmaster quietly rose to his feet, offered Isaak a muted salute, and quietly padded out of the door, leaving the magician standing in the middle of the puppetmaster's room.


End file.
